Sleeping With Thine Enemies
by isolde13
Summary: Draco knows he should not be in the dungeons. But Ron is down there. And he can't help but see for himself. RD slash.
1. Default Chapter

Author's notes: More angst from me. More Ron. And some Ron/Draco. My OTP. This is the only the first chapter of what will become a major saga....No, not really. Also, it's a little AU, because in this world, Lucius is roaming around free.

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 1)

Draco knows he should not be down here.

He knows that if his father finds him here, there will be hell to pay.

And yet this bit of knowledge does not stop him from being here, it only makes everything that much more exciting.

No one has deigned to tell him what they are hiding down here; down in the dungeons. Or who. But Draco knows anyway.

And he intends to see for himself.

Two nights ago, when he was wandering the halls of the mansion trying to rid himself of his insomnia, he heard muffled voices.

Secret voices.

He froze, then moved against a wall so as to not be seen. And he listened.

Voices...

Shouting...

A scream...

And he knew. Knew it as surely as if he had seen it with his own eyes. He knew who the scream belonged to. Ron Weasley was in his house. And he was not there as a guest.

That was two nights ago. He has endured two days and two nights of almost unbearable curiosity. And no one will tell him anything. When he asks his parents, they ignore him and pointedly change the topic of conversation.

Stupid.

They obviously have no idea that this only makes Draco more curious. So finally, not able to contain himself any longer, Draco picks this night to sneak out of bed and to hunt for the Weasel.

He's fairly sure that he's in the dungeons. It makes sense - where else would they keep a prisoner? Well, if he's still alive, that is.

So he continues to step carefully, slowly, making his way through the dark with only the light of his wand to guide him.

As he moves he makes note of the fact that the dungeons are surprisingly warm. Draco has always assumed they would be cold and dank. At first he finds this pleasant, but the longer he's down here, the more unpleasant the warmth becomes.

Soon it is a suffocating heat that seems intent on drawing the sweat from his pores.

Draco grimaces.

He hates sweating.

A few minutes later and Draco believes he has reached his destination. He has come upon the only cell within the dungeons that is closed. And locked.

He holds his wand in front of him and cautiously peers inside the cell.

And there he is, just as Draco knew he would be - Ron Weasley. He is sitting against the far wall, his arms stretched above his head, wrists shackled to the stone. Ron's head hangs down against his chest, as if he's sleeping.

Draco furrows his brow in puzzlement. Ron looks a little the worse for wear, but not overly so. It appears that his father has barely been torturing him and Draco can't help but wonder why. The boy should be half-dead already.

Maybe he's keeping him in good condition for the Dark Lord.

At any rate, Draco feels it is time to make his presence known.

He moves closer to the bars of the cell and clears his throat.

Ron slowly lifts his head up from his chest as he speaks. "Thought you were done for the night," he says with a voice that manages to be both tired and angry at the same time.

Draco winces involuntarily at the sound of that voice. It sounds like it hurt like hell just to say that one sentence. He is about to reply when he sees Ron's eyes widen in surprise and then narrow dangerously.

"God, it's you. What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron spits the question out, as if it's venom that he can't get rid of fast enough.

Ah, the moment Draco's been waiting for. Time to taunt the Weasel. He sneers, and presses himself close to the bars. "I just wanted to see how the little dungeon rat is doing. How do you like your new home? Better than your usual one, I'd wager."

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy," Ron hisses.

Draco smirks. As if he would do anything remotely like shut up. This is so much fun. "Now, now Weasley. Is that anyway to talk to the person who holds your life in their hands?"

"Oh please Malfoy. You're not in control of anything of anything here. Your father is," Ron says as he throws himself forward in anger, momentarily forgetting the fact that he is attached to the wall. He falls back instantly with a gasp, eyes widening in pain.

Draco ignores the truth in that comment and smiles. "Speaking of Father, did he hit you a little too hard, Weasley? Were you a bad boy? "

"My grandmother hits harder than your father, Malfoy."

For some reason, this one little sentence angers Draco to no end. That he would have the nerve to insult his father, here in his own house, and when he is trussed up like such a victim...

Draco throws himself against the bars of the cell and reaches his arm through them, his hand grasping greedily for Ron's throat. "Why you insolent, little bastard! I ought to cut out your fucking..."

For a brief moment, Ron looks surprised at Draco's violent reaction. Then he sighs and turns his head to the side. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. "Just go away, Malfoy," he says in a tired voice.

Draco freezes, his hand clenched in mid-air. He can't quite believe what he has just heard. "What?"

Without opening his eyes, Ron answers, "Go play your little Death Eater games somewhere else. I'm tired. I'm done with you."

Draco withdraws his hand. Through gritted teeth, he says, "You are done when I say you are done."

Ron snorts softly. "Whatever, Malfoy."

Now this is entirely too much. No one dismisses Draco. No one. Without thinking about what he is doing and what the reprucussions might be, he mutters spell after spell until he finds the one that unlocks the cell.

Then he rushes inside, feeling as if he could rend the insolent boy limb from limb.

He grabs Ron by his shirt and pulls him toward him, enjoying the look of fear that shines in the red-head's eyes.

'Not so cocky now, are you?' Draco thinks as he slams him back against the wall. The back of Ron's head hits the stone and he grunts with pain.

Draco grabs Ron's chin and forces the other boy to look at him. He leans in close and snarls, "You are done when I say you're done." Then he lets go, takes a step back and back-hands him across the cheek.

Draco feels a rush of power unlike any he has ever felt before. He pulls back his arm to do it again, maybe with a closed fist this time, when he sees the red mark made by his hand.

He stops, and slowly puts his arm down.

Evidence.

He has left a little bit of evidence that he was here. And if he continues to hurt Ron, there will be more evidence. And he isn't even supposed to be down here.

He was told NEVER to come here. He's known this rule since the age of six. His father will flay him alive for disobeying him.

Draco stalks away from Ron, who is now looking at him with a mixture of awe and fear, and begins to pace the cell. He is still angry, but damn it, he can't do anything to the other boy. He can't leave marks.

But he is still so damn angry, and Ron is still sitting there with that precious look on his face and his hands still immobile above him, which makes him look oh-so vulnerable...

Again without thinking, Draco lunges forward, one hand holding on to Ron's chin, the other snaking around to the back of his head. Holding his head still, he brings his mouth to Ron's. It's not so much kissing as it is devouring.

Hurting.

Dominance.

And it won't leave any marks.

Ron struggles to break free of the kiss - his legs kicking, his hips bucking, anything to get the other boy off of him. In desperation, he bites Draco lower lip. But Draco merely bites back and pulls his hair so hard that tears come to his eyes.

The kiss is brutal but it is short. When Draco pulls away from him, Ron turns his head to the side, panting heavily. He looks as if he is about to be sick. "What the fuck was that?" he asks in desperate confusion as he only half-looks at Draco.

Draco, who is panting as well, stands up, straightens robes, and then runs a hand through his hair. He walks over to his discarded wand and picks it up, pointing it at Ron. "_Now_, we are done," he says smugly.

Then he walks out the cell and locks it.

And then he is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: I think I should elaborate a little on this story. It will be DM/RW and LM/RW. There will be non-con. There may or may not be a plot; but don't count on it. There is no back-story (Ron is just there) because that would infer that there is a plot. And there is none.

P.S. Sorry for the crappy formatting. This story is in html format, I don't understand why it comes out like this.

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 2)

Draco thinks about that kiss, that one kiss that he forced upon Ron, far into the small hours of the night. Then he dreams about it. He dreams about holding Ron down and eating him piece by piece.

Then he thinks about the kiss all the next day.

At first his thoughts are uneasy ones. He is not exactly sure why he did what he did. He isn't gay. He is most certainly not gay. And Weasley is certainly not attractive. He's lanky and freckled and his clothes never fit right. And then there's that hair. That stupid red hair. How he loathes it; that color that he has come to associate with dirt-poor trash...

No, there are no good reasons to explain why he did what he did. And he has no clue as to why he feels he desperately needs to do it again.

So many things he does not know.

But he does know one thing.

He will return to the dungeons tonight.

He goes to bed that night and pretends to sleep. Then he waits in the darkness and bides his time, watching the clock until it tells him that it is one in the morning - the same time he went to the dungeons the night before. Then he waits some more.

Finally, after holding back as long as he possibly can, he gets out of bed, dresses, grabs his wand and begins his journey.

It is much easier this time, of course. Draco knows exactly where he needs to go and he reaches the dungeons quickly.

When he nears Ron's cell, he can see that some things have changed since yesterday. For one thing, Ron is no longer attached to the wall. He is sitting against it, yes, but his arms are behind his back. Are they tied? Yes, Draco guesses that they probably are. Also, he is sitting on a mattress instead of the floor. It is a skinny, dirty mattress, but it is more than he had yesterday.He surmises that Ron is in for a long stay.

When he moves a little closer, he can see that Ron is staring straight at him, almost as if he were expecting him.

The intensity in his eyes tells Draco that Ron is a very unhappy boy right now.

But since Draco could really not care less, he continues to move toward the cell, stopping only briefly to unlock it.

"And to what do I owe this pleasure, Malfoy?" Ron snarls as soon as he enters.

Draco halts, then smiles in actual amusement. "That was good, Weasley. You almost sounded like a proper person instead of the trash that you are."

"Bastard," Ron says quietly.

"I'm here Weasley, because I've been thinking. About what happened last night. About why I...did what I did."

"Why you kissed me, you mean?"

Draco almost blushes at the directness of the comment. Then he decides he should be direct as well. "Yes, why I kissed you."

"Well, I thought that was obvious. It's because you're a flaming homosexual, right?"

Draco waves his wand at Ron, easily dismissing his words. "Haven't we talked about this? You should be nicer to me."

Ron merely shrugs while managing to look disgusted. "Whatever."

"Anyway, where was I? Ah yes...no; I am not a "flaming homosexual" as you so eloquently put it. And before you get the thought into your thick brain, no, I do not like you. I mean, look at you. You're barely presentable, even at your best."

"So why did you maul me, then?"

But Draco continues as if he hadn't heard Ron at all.

"So I thought about it. About why I felt the need to kiss you, but I just couldn't figure it out. But...I did decide one thing."

Draco sees Ron's body tense and he pauses for even more dramatic tension. "I liked it," he says.

Ron's eyes widen a little at hearing those three words.

"And I think I want to do it again," Draco says softly, almost to himself.

Ron shakes his head in disbelief. "No," he whispers.

Draco takes one step forward. "Yes."

"No," Ron says again, with a little more force behind it this time.

Draco decides its high time he put a stop to all this talking and do what he came here to do. He takes a resolute step forward.

Ron shakes his head furiously, trying to deny the approach even as it's happening. He pushes back against the wall and tries to use his hands and his legs to stand, to get away. But he is so tired and so sore, because despite what he told Draco yesterday, Lucius does not hit worse than his grandmother. Lucius hits damn hard.

In spite of this, he continues to try. He is half-way standing, his hands desperately searching for purchase against the stone when Draco finally reaches him.

"Calm down, Weasley. I'm not going to hurt you," Draco says as he reaches a hand out. He means to touch the other boy's hair, but Ron turns his head away so fast that he doesn't make contact.

"Don't you fucking touch me," Ron says, and although the words sound harsh, there is an underlying touch of fear in his tone that makes Draco very glad he decided to go for a walk tonight.

"Right," Draco says smoothly, as if he has every intention of letting it end there. And he actually does take two steps back...but only to grip Ron more easily by his forearms and pull him down to the mattress.

Ron tries to stop this, but his equilibrium is completely off without the use of his hands. He falls down to the mattress and lands heavily on his side.

Draco follows immediately after, rolling him over onto his back before climbing onto his waist.

"Get the fuck off me!" Ron yells as he squirms to get away.

"Stop it," Draco says as his hands tighten around Ron's arms to hold him still.

But Ron struggles all the more.

Draco grips him so tightly, it feels as if his fingers will sink through Ron's very skin, and he shakes the other boy. Hard. Once...twice...three times.

"Just listen for a minute will you?" he shouts.

"Fine!" Ron shouts back.

Draco lets go of Ron's arms and takes a deep breath in an attempt get himself back in control; to get back the feeling that he had when he first walked in here. Eventually the urge to throttle the other boy to death passes and he feels he can speak again. "Now look, you are in a very vulnerable position right now," he says calmly, logically. "If I wanted to, I could really hurt you. Yes?"

Ron rolls his eyes. "Just get to the damn point."

"The point is this - I can hurt you, but I won't, at all, if you do one little thing for me."

Ron looks at him warily, knowing this is a trap, and hating himself for falling into it. "What is that?" he asks.

"Let me kiss you."

"Oh, no."

"Come on, Weasley. It's just one kiss. Isn't it better than the alternative?"

"No," Ron says.

Draco smiles lazily. "I have my dagger with me, I could hurt you _very_ badly."

Which of course is a lie, Draco can't hurt Ron at all. But what Ron doesn't know only works to Draco's advantage.

Ron stills. He looks at Draco's mouth before meeting his eyes. "Just one kiss?"

"Just one kiss."

Ron gives a half-nod, and then, with barely controlled hysteria, asks, "But why? Why would you want to?"

"I've already explained this to you. Haven't you been listening at all? And quit stalling. Yes or no."

Ron takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling.

"Weasley. Yes or no?" Draco prods.

Another intake of breath and then a very soft, resigned, "Yes."

A flutter of excitement passes through Draco's chest and stomach. "All right, then," he says huskily before leaning down, head descending until his lips touch Ron's. Ron's mouth, however, is closed tightly, and all Draco can feel are rough, parched lips against his own.

_Not enough. Not even close to being enough._

Draco makes a noise of frustration and bites down on the other boy's lower lip. Ron gasps, and Draco's tongue slithers inside his mouth.

_Finally...finally..._

He kisses Ron slowly this time; almost gently. This time isn't so much about devouring as it is about tasting. Tasting...and savoring.

He's going to enjoy this.

As the kiss continues, Ron tries to force his body to relax. He even begins to participate in the kiss, in hopes that it will be over that much sooner if he cooperates. But behind his back, his hands are clenched into tight fists, his nails leaving crescent shaped indents in his flesh.

After a minute, Draco withdraws his tongue and shifts his body ever-so-slightly. Ron unclenches his hands, anticipating the moment when Draco will finally get off of him and leave him alone. But Draco only pulls away long enough to run a hand through his hair and lick his lips hungrily before lowering himself again.

Ron manages to turn his head to the side before Draco's mouth can reach his. "You said one kiss," he says angrily.

"I lied," Draco says smoothly before grabbing Ron's chin and forcing his head back to center.

And the kiss begins again, just as gently as before.

It takes only a few seconds for Ron's anger to disappear and for the first stirrings of panic to take its place. Not because of the kiss. That is really the least of his worries right now. He is starting to panic because Draco's left hand is now on his leg and is rubbing it from the hip to the middle of his thigh and back again.

Ron tries to back away, but Draco's grip on his chin and his hip tighten. And now the kiss isn't so gentle anymore. It's harder, faster. And Draco has started to breathe very fast, and the hand that is on his leg is grabbing now, hard enough to hurt.

And it is slowly making its way to the middle of his legs.

Ron shuts his eyes against the onslaught. Not just the physical one, but the emotional one as well. He has never before been made to feel like this. Helpless, ashamed, angry, disgusted, afraid...so many emotions and thoughts at one time that he can't hold on to any of them.

And Draco; Draco is too busy swimming in pleasurable sensation to think much of anything.

He moans deep within his throat as his mouth begins to wander from Ron's mouth to his jawline and then to his throat. He stops there to nibble and nip against the pale skin; desperately fighting the urge to drive his inscisors straight through it.

Ron, eyes still tightly shut against reality, takes a few, quick, gasping breaths before uttering a desperate, "Stop...don't!"

The frantic plea somehow penetrates the haze of pleasure that has enveloped Draco for the past several minutes. He freezes completely, then slowly withdraws his mouth, his hands, from Ron's body.

As he looks down at the boy he holds trapped underneath him, the animalistic fire that had burned him so hotly recedes and reality is left in its stead.

He has lost control before, but _never_ to this extent. Never to the point of not even being able to think or to reason.

"Stop..." Ron gasps again.

But Draco is no longer even touching him. He is already on his feet, and half-way to the other end of the cell. "I..." he begins to say, but the sentence ends there, because there is nothing _to_ say.

A sick, cold feeling begins to form in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that had Ron not spoken, he would not have stopped.

And how far would he have gone?

And why? Why with Weasley?

He shakes his head against questions he can't possibly answer right now.

He needs to get out of here; out of this damn dungeon with its stultifying heat and its stained, ruined walls, and think.

He takes one last look at Ron, still on his back, his eyes closed and breathing heavily...and he runs as if the very devil were after his soul.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: I tried to fight it, but this story developed a plot somewhere along the line. Or at least I think it did.

Sorry that this chapter is so short. I blame Draco, that little minx

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 3)

Draco runs as fast as his long legs will take him. He runs through corridors, around corners, and across rooms, not caring that he is being less than silent or that he might possibly be seen.

His only thought, his only aim is to get away - to get away from Ron and back to the safety of his own rooms. To get away from thoughts and feelings that are less than clear and should never have been stirred up to begin with.

As he finally collapses, panting, onto his bed, he realizes that he should never have gone down to the dungeons in the first damn place. His father had rules, and those rules were there for a reason. Why he would ever have thought of disobeying this one; when he has never disobeyed his father before, is beyond him.

Draco kicks at the bed in frustration. "Stupid Weasley! This is all his damn fault somehow!" he hisses.

And to Draco, these words become absolute truth. Somehow, some way, this is all the other boy's fault. He has never behaved like this, so it has to be Ron's fault.

Feeling somewhat better now that he had managed to place the burden of blame on Ron, however tenuous that blame may be, Draco lifts the covers and slides his fully-dressed body beneath them. He closes his eyes tightly and silently swears to himself that he will not return to the dungeons. Ron Weasley can rot down there for all he cares. He won't return.

Ever.

It is only when he is several feet away from Ron's cell the next night that Draco allows himself to think about what a liar and a hypocrite he is. There are no words for what he feels about himself right now. Sickened, disgusted, and revolted are the first to come to his mind, but he discards them immediately because none of them are strong enough; none are nearly powerful enough for the self-loathing that is burning its way through him.

Just last night, he had sworn he would never come back here.

And the horrible truth of it is - he cannot stay away.

So he continues to walk forward - like a helpless moth drawn to a flame. Or like a predator drawn to his prey. He's not sure which.

On this night, Ron lies on his side on the small mattress. A thin grey blanket is wrapped tightly around his body, as if he is trying to cocoon himself within it. Only his head and one hand are visible outside of its protective cover.

Draco lifts his wand a little higher for better light and almost gasps at what he sees. But the Malfoy control that deserted him so traitorously last night is back with him now and he does not make a sound.

Tonight, Ron does look the worse for wear. He looks, Draco thinks, like a prisoner of his father should look. His red hair is wildly tousled. His cheek is bruised and smeared with dirt. His bottom lip is swollen; blood and saliva making it glisten. His eyes, while open, are so unfocussed, so blank, they give the impression that he is only half-conscious. It appears that his suffering has begun in earnest.

Draco walks up to the bars of the cell and wraps a hand around one of them. He expects Ron to look at him, yet Ron continues to stare off into space as if he were completely alone. Draco clears his throat and waits.

But there is nothing; no reaction from the other boy.

Feeling a bit impatient, he calls out, "Weasley?"

At this, Ron blinks and finally turns his eyes toward Draco.

"Malfoy?" he asks hoarsely as some dim emotion gives life to his eyes at last.

"Yes, Weasley, it's me."

A sickly grin that has nothing to do with amusement crosses Ron's face. "I knew you'd come. I knew it."

"Listen, Weasley . . . " he begins, although he has no idea what he really means to say.

"But guess what?" Ron conveniently interrupts. "You're too late."

"What are you?..."

"You're too late," Ron says more loudly and Draco can clearly hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice. He watches as Ron pushes himself up to a half-sitting position. He does not miss the wince that this small movement causes. "Your father beat you to it. He beat you to it! So there's no point in being here, is there, because your father got here first!"

By the time Ron reaches the end of his final sentence, he is no longer merely raising his voice; it appears he is screaming with all the strength left to him and his body is trembling as if he were very, very cold.

It takes a moment for Draco to get past Ron's display of emotion to decipher the meaning of it."My father kissed you?" he finally asks stupidly.

"Kissed?" Ron asks, and a strangled laugh escapes him. "Kissed? Your father did a lot more than a kiss me, Malfoy."

And then, full awareness strikes Draco, and the implications of what Ron is saying and how he is acting come rushing at him. "What the hell are you insinuating? That my father . . . " Draco lets the question die, because it's simply too preposterous, too insane, to actually voice out loud.

Ron nods his head jerkily. "Your father . . . your father . . . he . . . " A small, wounded noise escapes him - the sound of a dog that has been kicked too many times and can't possibly understand why.

Draco shakes his head in negation. "No, my father wouldn't . . . wouldn't do something like that."

"Why are you acting so damn shocked? That's what you were working up to, isn't it? With your little visits? Like father, like son. Except your father beat you to it!"

"You liar!"

"Liar?!" Ron asks, his voice sounding incredulous. "Do these look like lies?" he asks as he tugs at the collar of his filthy white T-shirt, exposing several red marks around his throat. "Does this look like a fucking lie?" He stands up as quickly as his tired body will let him, and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his loose pants. He tugs them down slightly, just enough for Draco to get a good look at the mottled, purple bruising on his hip - bruising that isn't at all solid. It's broken up . . . as if a hand had . . .

"Does it?!" Ron screams as he pulls his pants back up to cover himself.

And then, as quickly as the anger had arisen within him, it disappears. Without it, Ron seems to shrink in upon himself. His legs sag and his shoulders drop and when he hits the ground he lands unsteadily on all fours, panting heavily.

Draco watches all this with an ever-growing anger. It's as if all Ron's short-lived wrath has been infused into his body. He is so livid that he is shaking. That this worthless little shit . . . this worthless fucking blood-traitor would say such a thing about his father . . .

Without another thought, he runs into the cell and throws himself on Ron, knocking them both to the ground.

His hands grab at the material of Ron's shirt and pull the other boy close. "My father is not like that. He would never do that! He would never touch you!"

Ron lets out a strangled sob and turns his face to the side, inadvertently allowing Draco to see the wetness on his cheek.

But the tears do nothing except serve to incense Draco further. He begins to shake Ron mercilessly, not even noticing that he is slamming the boy's body against the concrete. "My father is not a rapist! He would never touch you!"

"Do you hear me?" he shouts into Ron's ear as he continues to shake him. "Do you?"

"Yes . . . yes . . . "

"My father is not a rapist!"

"No . . . "

"You lied!"

"I lied. I lied," Ron gasps. "Just please . . . please don't touch me anymore . . . _please_. Oh God, don't touch me anymore . . . "

Draco releases Ron quickly and stands, watching dispassionately as he curls into a fetal position on the floor and begins to sob.

If anyone were to walk in on this moment, they would think Draco as cold and hard as ice - standing there and simply watching as the other boy cries brokenly into his hands. But inside, Draco is quaking with emotion. Like every other time he has been down here.

_As if his father would ever touch . . . would ever lower himself to . . . _

But hadn't he himself done it yesterday? Just last night, he couldn't seem to get enough of Ron.

As he takes a step back, he remembers the words Ron uttered only moments ago.

_Like father like son._

Harsh words; accusing and condemning all at the same time.

He smooths his hair back in an automatic gesture and prepares to leave, making sure that there is no evidence of the fact that he was ever here.

As he walks away, he doesn't bother trying to decide if the disgust he's feeling is for his father or for himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's notes: I'm not sure that there's anything to say except that I hope everyone reading enjoys this chapter. Thanks to all for reading and reviewing. It is very much appreciated. Oh, also . . . if anyone would like to archive this story (or any of my stories) on their site - please feel free. All I ask is that you write me a quick note to let me know where it will be and please credit me for writing it. Thanks!

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 4)

Draco does not think about Weasley, or the dungeons, or anything related to either of them for three days straight. Or at least, he doesn't think about them in the regard that he thinks about them _all_ the time - but he doesn't allow himself to believe that he is doing so.

It's best this way. In Draco's opinion, avoidance and denial are not the bad words everyone makes them out to be. At this rate, he figures that it will take another seven days to forget Weasley was ever even here.

All goes according to plan until the fourth night. It is on this night of his exercise in denial that Draco has the dream.

He dreams of walking through the dungeons. Although he cannot see himself, he knows that he is very small; a child. In the strange way of dreams, he is not holding a wand for light, yet he can somehow still see past the shadows and dark. He walks to a random cell and stops. Inside the cell, he sees his father and another man. His father looks much younger, but Draco recognizes him easily. The other man he does not recognize. In fact, he can barely see him. Dream shadows only allow him to see the man's profile and his long, dark hair. Both men are naked, his father on top of the stranger. The stranger is sobbing and cursing at the same time. His father is smiling his reptile smile. And his father is thrusting into the other man over and over . . .

Draco wakes up with a scream lodged in his throat, and only his deeply-ingrained sense of self-preservation stops that scream from tearing its way out of him.

He sits up in bed and wraps his arms around his body to stop himself from shaking.

He tells himself that it was a dream. It had to be.

And yet, deep in his heart, he knows that it felt like a memory.

But it couldn't be. His father wouldn't . . . wouldn't . . .

Draco stops that train of thought before it takes him down the road to hypocrisy. His father is a Death Eater. Draco can only guess at the number of atrocities he has committed. Why should raping a man be considered any worse than the others?

Could it _possibly_ be because this is happening to a real person instead of someone imagined and faceless? He discards this idea almost immediately. He hates Weasley; he doesn't care what happens to him. Besides, didn't he try to force himself on Weasley only a few nights ago? So who is he to be judging anyone?

Disgusted at his confusion and his inability to make any sense of the situation, Draco makes a noise of exasperation and flops back down on the bed.

'Like father, like son," he says softly to himself as he runs a hand through his hair.

He sighs deeply. He knows that he has to go back to the dungeons.

He has known this all along.

But this time, he has to be there before his father gets there. It is the only way he will ever know if Ron is telling the truth. It is the only way to know anything, _period_.

It is agony to wait. Pure agony, for now his every waking moment is filled with thoughts and suppositions that simply cannot be ignored. During dinner time he studies his father and mother out of the corner of his eye. They act as if there is nothing amiss, talking to each other in the most civilized manner. One would never guess that a bruised boy was being held against his will several hundred feet below them.

Draco wonders if his mother even knows. He wonders if she approves.

After dinner, Draco bids his parents goodnight, and goes to his room. Once there, he leaves the door open a crack, crouches down next to it and waits.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait to long to hear the footsteps and murmurs signaling that his parents are going to bed. He waits a few more minutes, body thrumming with tension the entire time. He has to time this just right. If his father catches him at any moment . . . well, he can only hope that the lies he will have to tell will be good enough.

Willing himself to move from the uncomfortable position he has been holding, he opens the door and steps outside of his room cautiously.

He carries his wand with him, but does not use it for light; there can be nothing that will alert his father to his presence.

In the dark, he moves through the house at the pace of someone very old. Using his hands and his memory instead of his eyes, he eventually arrives at the dungeons. He feels around until he comes to what he guesses is a pillar, then he sits down with his back against its stone, and waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

He has lost all track of time by the time he hears the footsteps and the dungeon is suddenly illuminated.

He doesn't turn; doesn't move, doesn't even allow himself to tense. He merely sits; waits.

And listens.

He hears the footsteps approach his hiding place, hears them come within mere yards of it, and then he hears them move away.

He takes a moment to thank every god he's ever heard of that he chose this side of the pillar to hide behind instead of the other.

He hears the muttered spell that unlocks the cell.

He hears the rasping that signifies that the cell door is opening.

He closes his eyes tight, counts to three then opens them. This is it. The proverbial moment of truth.

He hears his father's voice softly saying, "Ronald."

There is no answer from Ron, at least none that Draco can hear.

"Did you miss me, Ronald?"

A tiny shiver runs through Draco before he can control it. He clenches his fists and strains to listen, but there is still no answer from Ron.

"What is the matter? Why so untalkative today?"

"Just do it and get it over with, Malfoy."

"You should know by now I like to take my time," his father replies.

He hears his father mutter another spell; this time a binding spell.

"God dammit Malfoy, leave me the fuck alone!" Ron shouts.

Then . . . the sounds of a struggle. A thud. The sound of flesh striking flesh. A grunt of pain. Half-spoken words, unintelligible in their incompleteness. And then a wail of grief that echoes loudly through the dungeons, then silence.

Draco sits and waits for the questions that his father will surely ask any time now - because this has to be some kind of interrogation.

But there is nothing but harsh breathing and the occasional grunt.

Finally, Draco forces himself to move. Twisting his body until he is on his knees, he peeks around the pillar, moving his head only one excruciating inch at a time.

And there he sees what he was telling himself that he wouldn't see, yet somehow knew all along that he would.

His father and Ron on the mattress.

At first this is all he sees - just a tangle of limbs, and that shocking image forces him to shut his eyes tightly and turn his head away. But it is only a brief moment later that he is turning his head back and opening his eyes - because he has to see. He has come this far - he will see.

Details. This time it is the details that register. Details that he is certain will be forever seared into his brain.

He sees his father with his pants down around his ankles. He sees Ron underneath his father, his arms seemingly pinned behind his back. He sees that Ron is still wearing the T-shirt from the other night, but nothing else. His hears his father making obscene grunting noises as he moves back and forth and he hears Ron's only half-realized sobs.

And then his father begins to speak.

"Tell me how much you like this, Weasley. Tell me how much you love it."

"No . . . "

It is weak but it is still a negation and Draco finds himself admiring the redhead for it. Merlin knows _he_ has never dared to disagree with his father about anything.

His father digs his fingers deep into Ron's shoulder and chuckles. "Come on. Be a good boy. Tell me you love this. Tell me. You. Love. Me."

With those words Ron seems to gather some strength, He looks up at his father and screams, "I hate you! I hate this and I hate you! You make me sick!"

His father pushes himself up a bit and back-hands Ron hard across the face. Ron's head is rocked to the side from the force of the blow, his gaze landing on Draco. Draco stops breathing, certain that Ron will foolishly say something to his father and condemn them both. But Ron merely looks at him for a moment, his eyes first registering surprise and then sadness, then turns back to his father.

"You ingrate. You pathetic, little ingrate. I keep you here, when I could take you to the Dark Lord. You should be grateful," his father is saying.

Ron opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but a particularly vicious-looking thrust from his father forces it closed again. He turns his head to the other side so that his face is hidden and all Draco can see is his flaming red hair.

Draco turns back around when he sees his father quicken his pace. He does not move until he hears the unmistakable sounds of his father reaching completion.

He lets his head drop into his hands, feeling slightly nauseous. He stays like this, resolutely shutting out his father's parting comments to Ron, until he can no longer hear his father's footfalls and he is once again surrounded by darkness.

He pulls out his own wand and calls for light, then he gets himself up and walks around the pillar and to the cell. He unlocks it and steps in. And all the time he is moving, he feels like he is on autopilot, his body moving him where he needs to go because his mind won't produce anything but a buzzing static.

He sees that Ron is still on his back but that he is now covered with the same blanket from the other night. He is clutching it tightly and staring straight at Draco.

Draco sinks to his knees beside the other boy and looks at him, trying to get his mind to work again.

"Do you believe me now?" Ron asks him in a whisper.

Draco almost laughs at the absurdity of the question and the small bit of humor that Ron is grasping onto. But he doesn't, because there really is nothing funny about this at all.

"I didn't want to believe it," he finally answers.

"I know you didn't."

"How often does he . . . ?"

"Every night. He's here every night."

Draco shuffles closer and extends his hand, only to see Ron flinch violently away from him.

"Calm down, Weasley. I wasn't going to touch you!" he says, using indignation to burst through that wall of static in his brain. And yet, truth be told, Draco isn't sure what he was planning to do.

Ron turns his head to the ceiling and puts his hands over his face. "I thought that . . . " he says with a small giggle. "I thought that you were . . . "

"Well, I wasn't. For God's sake, Weasley. You're not irresistible, you know. Just because my father is a sick pervert, doesn't mean that I . . . and why are you laughing? This isn't funny!"

Ron pulls his hands away from his face and resumes clutching at the blanket. That's when Draco notices the tears running down his cheeks and the fact that Ron's laughter sounds like a mad man's.

"It's not funny; it's not," Ron says over and over again, all the while managing to both laugh and sob at the same time.

It gives Draco the creeps, watching this. He feels like he is watching Ron break down completely. Like a voyeur, seeing what he should not see.

"Maybe I should go," he says as he stands up.

Ron takes a deep, hitching breath to calm himself down. He forces himself to stop the demented laughter, but he cannot keep his body from shaking. "All right," he says.

Draco turns and is about to step forward when Ron calls out to him. "Malfoy?"

Draco turns his head at the sound of that exhausted, trembling voice. "Yes?"

"Why did you come here?"

"To prove that you were a liar, Weasley."

"I'm not."

Draco nods and says, "I know," before turning around. He makes it as far as the cell door when Ron's voice calls to him again.

"Malfoy?"

Draco winces at how childlike that voice sounds. This time he does not turn around. He merely asks, "What?"

"Does your father know you come here?"

Draco takes a moment to think about how to answer this. If he gives the wrong answer, it could mean disaster. Before he can decide on what to say however, Ron whispers, "It's ok. I won't tell."

Draco nods again, face still turned away from Ron. He is surprised - he never knew the other boy could actually be perceptive.

"Goodnight Weasley," he says just before he walks through the door and closes it behind him.

"Are you coming back?"

He holds the wand before him and looks into its magical light once more before muttering, "Nox."

Then, speaking into the darkness, he says, "You know I will."


	5. Chapter 4A

Author's notes: This is just an interlude. I wanted to try the previous chapter from Ron's POV.

I will get back to the regularly scheduled story after I've gotten this out of my system, I promise.

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 4A)

Ron lies on the mattress in his cell and stares out into the darkness that surrounds him, his thoughts winding unrestricted through his mind.

It has been, in his best estimate, three days since he's seen Malfoy, Jr. It is only an estimate - since there is no natural light to indicate time's passing, he goes by how often a tiny house elf brings him food, cleans him up, and illuminates the dungeon.

_Three days . . . _

He wonders if he will be so lucky as to go another night without his company. He fears that Draco will come back and somehow get the courage to finish what he had started. He fears that Draco will walk in here, call him a liar again, and hurt him like his father has. He's fairly certain that he will go completely mad if father and son start passing him back and forth between them like a second-hand toy.

At the thought of Lucius, Ron's heart begins to beat faster. He does fear Draco to a certain extent, yes. But that fear is mostly based on uncertainty; the little bastard may or may not hurt him at any given time. But when he thinks of Lucius, Ron's fear heightens into near terror; all-encompassing and all-powerful. There is no uncertainty when it comes to Malfoy, Sr.

Lucius _will_ hurt him. And he will enjoy doing so.

Ron closes his eyes, suddenly feeling very weary and much older than his sixteen years. His eyelids begin to grow heavy and he lets them close, although he knows that he won't be sleeping anytime soon.

A moment later he hears something shuffling in the darkness. He opens his eyes very wide and listens intently. For a brief second, he thinks he sees movement within the shadows. He stays like this for a few minutes, every one of his senses on alert, but when he neither sees nor hears anything else, he tells himself that it was only an illusion caused by the shadows and his lack of sleep. His body relaxes again and his eyes droop closed.

He doesn't know how long he lingers here, in the twilight world between awake and asleep, but soon enough he hears the unmistakable sound of something moving within the dungeon. No illusion this time. Again he tenses and opens his eyes and sees a silvery light in the distance. When the light begins to move toward him, brightening the dungeons as it does so, Ron has to bite hard on his lower lip in order not to scream. He hates this part - the waiting, the anticipation -almost as much as the rapes themselves.

As the light continues to draw closer, Ron is finally able to discern that it is Lucius who has come to see him. He scoots back on the mattress as he watches the blond monster's slow, steady approach. His mind barely has time to register that he was hoping it was Draco before it moves onto other, more pressing, matters.

Like survival.

Lucius opens the door to the cell and steps inside and Ron, despite his weakness, pushes himself up to a sitting position. He may feel weak, but he'll be damned if he's going to show it.

"Ronald."

Ron suppresses a shiver at hearing his name come from those foul lips. He refuses to answer, opting instead to glare daggers at the man he has come to hate more than anything.

"Did you miss me, Ronald?" Lucius says as he begins to sidestep closer.

The slippery, seductive tone of that voice is enough to make Ron feel ill. He swallows hard and forces himself to continue to glare.

Lucius leans forward, just a bit, and smiles. "What is the matter? Why so untalkative today?"

The sick absurdity of the question finally forces Ron to speak. "Just do it and get it over with, Malfoy," he spits out, hoping that he sounds brave and angry when inside he feels like a little boy lost in the dark.

"You should know by now I like to take my time," Lucius replies smoothly.

Before Ron can even think to respond to that, Lucius mutters his binding spell. Ron can feel his arms being forcibly moved to behind his back, where cold metal wraps around his wrists and joins them together. Instinctively, he struggles against the bindings, managing only to succeed in further damaging his already abraded wrists.

"God dammit Malfoy, leave me the fuck alone!" Ron shouts as he looks up in time to see that Lucius is setting down his wand and unbuttoning his pants.

Seeing this, any small bit of anger that Ron has been holding onto is replaced by sheer terror. He tries to move away, crab-walking on his chained hands and feet, but he has barely moved when Lucius wraps one hand around his ankle and yanks down. He kicks out blindly, and feels a surge of triumph when he connects with something and hears the ensuing groan. But Lucius isn't one to take a hit and stay down; a lesson Ron learned on his very first day here. It takes the man only seconds to recover enough to slam his hand hard across Ron's face; not once but twice. Then the hand curls into a fist and plunges into his stomach.

This last blow causes all the air to rush from his body and he is left struggling to breathe past an almost overwhelming pain. He doesn't even feel it when his pants are pulled off of his body and discarded. He barely feels it when Lucius lowers himself onto him, all roaming hands and grabbing fingers.

By the time he is able to draw a shaky breath and think past the pain in his gut, Lucius has moved on to planting little kisses along his collarbone. Ron tries to shout, "Stop," but all he can manage to produce is a strangled whisper.

Lucius runs a hand over his hair in a parody of comfort and says, "Shh . . . quiet boy, quiet . . . "

Ron's fight or flight instinct kicks into high gear when he feels Lucius' hands running along his inner thighs. He begins to strain desperately, moving his body almost convulsively to try to get free, to try to stop what is about to happen.

Then Lucius places one hand against his left shoulder, pressing it down against the floor while the other hand is fumbling around _down there_; preparing, readying . . .

When Lucius finally does manages to enter him, Ron screams. And when Lucius begins to move inside of him, setting up a rhythm that Ron can't help but go along with, he begins to sob. He doesn't want to, he wants to be stoic and strong, but the tears are coming too fast to stop.

As the assault continues, turning almost monotonous, Ron shuts his eyes and tries to imagine himself somewhere far away from here, somewhere safe; maybe playing Quidditch with Harry or studying with Hermione. Anywhere but here - in this hell with this monster.

It almost works, Ron can almost imagine that he is in a good place, until he hears the monster's voice again. "Tell me how much you like this, Weasley. Tell me how much you love it."

With the return of reality comes the return of the pain in his body. Half-delirious with it, he mutters, "No . . . "

Lucius digs his fingers deep into Ron's shoulder and chuckles. "Come on. Be a good boy. Tell me you love this. Tell me. You. Love. Me."

That does it. Ron has never heard anything so fucking ridiculous or sick in his life. For a moment all he can feel is bewilderment, and then a white-hot anger that threatens to explode from him. "I hate you! I hate this and I hate you! You make me sick!" he screams as loudly as he can.

Lucius snarls, his teeth bared. He raises one hand and back-hands Ron hard across the face. Ron's head is rocked to the side from the force of the blow. He opens his eyes immediately, ready to tell Lucius again how much he "loves" him, when he spots a familiar face behind one of the pillars. He gives a small, inaudible gasp when he realizes that it is Draco and that he has probably been here this entire time. Watching. Unnerved he turns back to Lucius who is speaking to him yet again, this time in angry tones.

"You ingrate. You pathetic, little ingrate. I keep you here, when I could take you to the Dark Lord. You should be grateful."

Ron opens his mouth to give a nasty retort, but just then Lucius chooses to push into him so hard and fast that it takes his breath away. He turns his head to the other side and stares at the wall, determined not to say anything else. He counts the cracks in it, notes the different stains on it, anything to distract himself from the fact that Lucius is still inside of him and that Draco is watching it all.

He almost manages to lose himself in his study, when he notices that Lucius has begun to move more quickly; frantically almost. Ron knows from experience that he will be done soon. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to hold on, that it will just be a little longer.

And indeed, it is only another minute before Lucius groans, stills, then gives a little shudder before finally pulling out.

Ron keeps his eyes glued to that wall, not bothering to see that Lucius is now dressing himself. He doesn't look when Lucius bends down over him and undoes the binding spell, telling him how wonderful and simply delicious he was.

It's only when he feels the blanket thrown haphazardly across his body and sees the dungeon once again plunged into darkness that Ron blinks and moves his head. He grabs the blanket and covers himself with it, not noticing that he is clutching it so tightly that his knuckles are white from the effort.

He then turns his head in the direction of the cell door and waits for Draco.

It takes a while for Draco to show himself, but Ron is patient. Finally, from seemingly out of nowhere, light materializes. And from this light, a pale figure emerges.

Ron watches him in silence. Only when the other boy has dropped to his knees beside him does he speak. "Do you believe me now?" he asks in a whisper, feeling proud of himself for the note of sarcasm he put in the question.

Draco doesn't say anything for such a long time that Ron believes that the other boy will never respond.

"I didn't want to believe it," Draco says eventually.

'No duh, Draco. Really?' Ron thinks.

"How often does he . . . ?"

Ron answers before the question is even finished. "Every night. He's here every night."

Draco seems to consider this for a moment and before moving a little closer, his hand extended as if he's about to touch Ron. Ron flinches automatically. The last thing that he can handle right now is Malfoy molesting him. If he does, Ron is sure he will throw up, go insane, attack Malfoy, die . . . any number of scenarios actually. And none of them good.

"Calm down, Weasley. I wasn't going to touch you!" Draco says.

Ron's small moment of fear quickly turns into relief. A relief so great that as he turns his head to the ceiling and puts his hands over his face, he begins to giggle from the sheer enormity of it. "I thought that . . . I thought that you were . . . "

"Well, I wasn't. For God's sake, Weasley. You're not irresistible, you know. Just because my father is a sick pervert, doesn't mean that I . . . and why are you laughing? This isn't funny!"

Ron pulls his hands away from his face and resumes clutching at the blanket. He barely notices the fact that he is crying now as well. Crying and laughing at the same time. "It's not funny; it's not," he says over and over again; knowing it's not but for some reason unable to stop.

Beside him, Draco stands up. "Maybe I should go."

Ron stops laughing abruptly. Draco sounded uncomfortable just then. Draco probably thinks he's lost it. Which means that he probably has. Suddenly things aren't so funny anymore. Being a lunatic is no cause for humor. Ron takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily. "All right," he agrees. Oddly enough, he doesn't really want Draco to go, but he has no reason to make him stay.

As Draco begins to turn to leave, a question occurs to him. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you come here?"

"To prove that you were a liar, Weasley."

"I'm not," he says just a bit indignantly.

Draco nods and says, "I know," before turning around and beginning to walk forward.

Ron watches him get as far as the cell door before he speaks again. Again that there's that strange sense of not wanting Draco to leave. "Malfoy?"

Draco does not turn. "What?" he asks.

He asks the first question that pops into his mind. "Does your father know you come here?" he asks.

Still Draco does not turn. He doesn't even move. He goes very still and says nothing, as if he has to devote all his energy and thought to this question.

And so without even speaking, Draco has told Ron what he wanted to know. He whispers, "It's ok. I won't tell." Hr knows that Draco will understand. These clandestine little meetings are for him and Draco only; involving Lucius would be akin to one of them committing a sin against the other.

"Goodnight Weasley," Draco says just before he walks through the door and locks it behind him.

Ron is about to say goodnight; the word is on the tip of his tongue, when something else comes to mind. A question that suddenly seems very important.

"Are you coming back?" he asks almost shyly.

He hears Draco mutter, "Nox," an infinitesimal second before he is once again plunged into total darkness.

It is through that same darkness that Draco's voice comes once more, steady yet somehow sad. "You know I will," he says.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: This is dedicated to love-it who asked me so nicely not to leave Ron in the dungeon.

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 5)

Draco is at odds with himself. Which is something that doesn't happen very often. Which goes a long way to explaining why he is so bothered by the situation he finds himself in.

On the one hand he finds himself repulsed by what his father is doing. This feeling is reinforced every time he goes down to the dungeons and finds Ron curled up like a child; bruised and aching after one of his father's visits.

On the other hand, Draco sometimes finds himself wishing that _he_ were the one touching Ron; doing things to Ron. Sometimes he thinks back to those first two times in the cell, when he forced his kisses and caresses onto the other boy and he finds it almost unbearably exciting.

And this is where things get very confusing for Draco. How can he think what his father is doing is wrong, when sometimes he wants so badly to be doing it himself? It's not possible, is it - to want two things that are such polar opposites at the same time?

Well, maybe he doesn't want to do _exactly_ what his father is doing - but he is quite cognizant of the fact that he does want to do something. He wants something from Ron . . . but what that something is . . . well . . . he hasn't quite figured that out yet.

It is all very confusing. And as if that weren't enough, Draco also finds that he's gaining a certain amount of respect for the boy being held prisoner. He can only imagine what Ron must be going through, how horrible things must be for him, and yet the fact that he is surviving it, with dignity more or less intact, just seems to engender this feeling in him.

Draco shakes his head. Respecting a Weasley - if that isn't one of the signs of the apocalypse, he doesn't know what is.

Draco smiles slightly at his own humor before grabbing his wand and preparing to make his every-other-nightly journey to the dungeons. He can try to think things through later, right now he has to see Ron. Ron will be expecting him.

Of course by the time he makes it all the way down to the dungeons and actually reaches Ron's cell, his momentarily flash of good humor is gone and all he can feel is a crushingly tense apprehension. He never knows in what shape he will find the other boy, and some nights are worse than others.

He peers into the cell to see that Ron is curled up on his side, his eyes tightly shut, his body taut as a bowstring.

'Father must have been hard on him,' he thinks grimly as he prepares to open the door and step inside.

But before he can move, Ron opens his eyes and looks up at him, his face at first frightened, then troubled. "What are you doing here?" he hisses.

Draco is completely taken aback by Ron's reaction to him. He usually appears somewhat glad to see him. He stutters, "I . . . visiting . . . what I always do when I come down here."

With surprising speed, Ron stands up and crosses the small cell to stand opposite Draco. He wraps his hands around the bars of the door and glances around wildly before letting his gaze settle on Draco. "You're too . . . he hasn't . . . " he stammers incoherently.

"Weasley, at least attempt to speak English," Draco says, using his "bored" voice to mask his growing unease.

But it doesn't appear as if Ron is listening to him. He isn't even looking at Draco anymore; he is instead staring at the glowing wand in Draco's hand. "Put that out!" he says urgently.

"Put what out?" Draco asks, feeling his unease giving way to annoyance.

"The light. Put it out now," Ron says, before plaintively adding, "_Please_."

Draco mutters, "Fine. Fine," before saying "nox"and lowering the wand. He squints, trying to find the other boy in the darkness. "Happy now?" he asks.

Ron responds only with a whispered, "Sh . . . "

"What . . . " Draco begins to ask.

"Just don't talk so loud. He could be here any minute."

Despite the sneaking suspicion that Ron has completely lost his marbles, Draco begins to whisper as well. "What is wrong with you, Weasley ?" he asks.

There is a brief moment of silence before Ron speaks again, this time in a shaky whisper. "Your father hasn't been here yet."

Draco feels a rush of panic and instinctively looks around frantically, although there is nothing to see but the pure black. "What? But it's late. It's later than I usually come."

"Is it? I don't know . . . I just know that he hasn't been here."

"Maybe he's not coming tonight."

"No, he always comes. Always."

The conviction in Ron's voice leaves no room for argument. Draco takes a step forward and lets himself sag against the bars of the cell. This was not supposed to happen. Of all things, to be caught here by his father . . .

"You have to hide, like you did last time."

Draco lifts his head, futilely looking for the source of that voice. "Are you crazy? I can't even see. How am I supposed to find..."

Ron's voice is soft and urgent in the darkness. "You have to. You have to go. Now. He can't find you here. That would be . . . bad."

Something about that one simple word convinces Draco. Yes, it would indeed be bad if his father found him here. For both him and Ron. It would be very bad. And he knows he has to move . . . now.

"All right," he whispers before he drops down to the ground, preparing to crawl his way over to the pillar.

He is surprised when he feels a hand, Ron's hand, grab his wrist tightly. He briefly wonders if the other boy can see in the dark after all this time.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't watch." And just like that the pressure around his wrist is gone. Draco hesitates for a moment, about to assure Ron that he won't, when he remembers that he still needs to move.

On hands and knees, he crawls as quickly as he can in the dark, using his sense of direction and his memory to find his way. It's not long before his outstretched hand brushes against something hard. He moves closer to it, and lays his hands against it, realizing that it is indeed the pillar he is looking for.

He sits against it, hoping that like the last time he is in the right place so that he won't be seen. He doesn't know for sure how long he waits before a faint light illuminates the dungeon, but he knows it isn't long. If he has to guess, he would say that he was able to evade his father by no more than five minutes.

He settles in, and prepares for what is to come. He will not watch, Ron asked him not to, but he has to listen. There is nothing for it.

His father's voice is the first he hears. "Ronald."

Ron's tight, restrained voice responds. "Lucius."

"Have you missed me?"

Draco prepares himself to hear some major language, but instead Ron merely says, "You know I did." Draco frowns. Had he heard correctly? Why wasn't Ron cursing him to hell and back? And why was he saying that he missed him?

Lucius laughs, a low throaty chuckle. "Yes, of course you did." Silence, then, "I had a very difficult time getting away from that bitch tonight. I think she's starting to suspect something. That's why I'm so late."

"Are you late? I hadn't noticed."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? The passage of time is becoming quite meaningless to you, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Pretty boy. Take off your clothes for me."

There is only the briefest of pauses before Ron says, "All right."

A minute or two later, he hears his father say, "So beautiful. Now put your arms behind you. It's a pity I still have to bind you, but I don't think you can be quite trusted yet."

"You can trust me."

Draco hears his father chuckle again. It sends a chill through his spine and ice into his veins. "No, sweet boy. Soon, but not quite yet."

And then for a long time Draco hears no more. His natural curiosity is tempting him to peek, to see what is happening just around the pillar, but he promised Ron that he wouldn't - and even if he didn't say it aloud it was a promise.

And then the noises begin - the unmistakable sounds of sex. But it's not "violins are playing, flowers are blooming" sex; it's violent, painful sex that Draco hears. He closes his eyes tightly, no longer wishing to peek around the pillar, no longer even wanting to be here, when he hears his father's voice.

"Tell me you love this."

"I love this."

The words are spoken as if it hurts unbearably to say them. There is not a drop of sincerity in them and Draco has to wonder if his father is so deluded as to believe the declaration.

"Tell me you love me."

"I...love you," Ron says in a hesitant, strained voice. Then more strongly and more convincingly, he repeats, "I love you."

"I know you do, Ronald. I know you do."

And then nothing more is said for a while. Not until it's finally over. Again the sounds of completion come to Draco's ears and again he finds himself feeling nauseous. Intensely nauseous.

He realizes that this is all so much easier to handle when he doesn't have to see or hear what is happening to Ron. When all he has to do is to handle the afterwards.

At length he hears his father saying his goodbyes, crooning to Ron as if all that had just happened were indeed consensual.

He waits until he is certain that his father is gone.

And then he just sits there, frozen.

He doesn't want to face Ron - not after what he's just heard.

He actually considers it for a moment. Considers just quietly slinking off into the darkness. And then never coming back. But in his heart of hearts, he knows he can't. So he stands up, dusts himself off, and stands up.

"Lumos."

He shuffles over to the cell slowly, half-hoping that by the time he reaches it, Ron will have fallen asleep.

No such luck. Ron is awake, sitting on the mattress (albeit it awkwardly), that blanket of his wrapped protectively around his body.

Draco sighs and enters the cell.

He drops down into an easy crouch a few feet away from Ron. It is one of the few times in his life that he has no idea what to say.

Ron, meanwhile, is staring intently at the floor. And then at the wall. And then at the floor again. Anywhere but at Draco. Then finally, although still looking at the ground, he quietly utters the words, "Don't say it."

Grateful that the other boy spoke first, Draco remarks, "I wasn't going to say anything."

Ron gives a half nod and closes his eyes and for a moment both boys are quiet, seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Then Ron opens his eyes and looks directly at Draco. The fury and despair that Draco sees in those eyes are almost enough to make him want to turn tail and run. It is only the knowledge that all this fire and anger is not directed at him that makes him stay his ground.

"You have no fucking idea what it's like!" Ron screams. "To go through this every god damn day! To have him do this to you every god damn day!" He suddenly leans forward so that his face is only inches away from Draco's, his breath hot against Draco's cheek. " To know that no matter how hard you fight, no matter how hard you try to keep it from happening, he's still going to hurt you!"

"No, Ron, I don't," Draco says quietly.

Ron continues as if he hadn't heard him, although the anger in his voice is already fading into desperate agony. "Sometimes it's just easier to do and say what he wants. Then it doesn't hurt as bad."

Solemnly, Draco says, "It's ok, Weasley. You don't have to explain anything to me."

Ron takes a deep, shuddering breath and wipes at the tears forming in his eyes. "I hate this. I hate that you heard that. I hate being so bloody weak."

Draco runs a shaky hand through his hair and sighs. "Weasley, you're not being weak, all right? It's obvious my father's deranged. You're just doing what you have to do to survive."

"No, I'm a coward. I should be standing up to him." Then very quietly, so quietly that Draco almost misses it, Ron says, "Harry would."

"What?" Draco asks, suddenly feeling much more like himself. "Potter? That whiny, little git?"

"Hey!" Ron says indignantly.

"Hey what? He wouldn't have lasted past the first day."

"No, Harry is brave. He's the bravest person I know, he's . . . "

Draco holds up a hand. "Slow down, Weasley. Don't get yourself in an uproar. All I meant was . . . all I meant was that you shouldn't compare yourself to Potter. Especially if you're going to shortchange yourself. You're braver than you think. You're stronger than you think."

For a moment Ron looks as if he's going to argue, but then he merely wipes at his eyes and mutters, "Thanks."

"Yeah, well . . . you're welcome," Draco says, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Being compassionate isn't really his thing despite all that's happened in the past few days. He fidgets for a moment, not sure what else to say to someone who's about two seconds from breaking down in earnest, when he suddenly remembers the vial he had put into his pocket earlier. "I almost forgot," he says, grateful to be able to move onto another topic. "I have something for you."

"What?" Ron asks with yet another swipe at his eyes.

Draco pulls out the small, dark vial from inside his robe's pocket. "Drink this."

"What is it, poison?" Ron asks wryly.

"No, you git," Draco says with a small laugh. "It'll help with the pain."

Ron takes the vial from him, but makes no move to unstop it to drink from it.

"Are you going to take it, or just stare at it all night?"

"I just don't understand why you're being so nice to me."

Draco shrugs. "I don't know, Weasley. Maybe because it gives me something to do."

"So I'm charity work now?"

"Just drink the damn thing."

Ron smirks and for a moment Draco is reminded of the old Ron, the vibrant, smart-ass Ron that used to exist before his father took it upon himself to destroy him.

Draco watches as Ron drinks it down in one gulp, then hands the empty vial back to him.

"Thanks," he says as he lies down.

"You're welcome."

Both boys allow the quiet to grow around them as they sit in companionable silence.

"Malfoy, I feel funny," Ron says after a time.

Draco nods knowingly. "It's the draught."

"You did poison me!" Ron says indignantly, lifting his head for one moment before it falls back down heavily.

Draco laughs. "It's supposed to help you sleep."

"Does it usually kick in this fast?"

"Not usually. It's probably because you haven't had a decent night's sleep since you got here."

Ron yawns. "You could be right about that one."

Seeing that Ron is close to falling asleep and therefore probably won't object, Draco inches closer and does something he's been wanting to do for the past few nights. He gently places a hand on Ron's hair. He smiles to himself. It's just as soft as he expected it to be.

Ron sighs with what sound like contentment and shifts slightly.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think...does anyone miss me?"

Draco looks down at Ron quizzically. "Of course they do. What a strange thing to say."

"Well, it's just that . . . I wonder . . . are they even looking for me?"

"There's a story about your disappearance is in the paper every day. Yeah, they're looking for you."

Ron simply nods at this, then in a slurred, sleepy voice, he asks, "Do you think your dad will ever get tired of me?"

Draco's heart clenches tightly at the other boy's words. He sighs and, because he has no answer, says, "Go to sleep, Ron."

Ron exhales the word, "yes", and goes silent. After a few minutes his breathing subtly changes, becoming deeper, more slow and rhythmic, an indication that he has fallen asleep.

Draco smiles, feeling proud of himself for thinking to bring the draught. He shifts, settling himself into a more comfortable position. He has plenty of time before he has to go back, and since he is not the least bit tired, he figures he'll stay for a while.

It is only after several minutes have passed that Draco realizes a few things. One, that Ron had called him by his first name. Two, that he had called Ron by _his_ first name. And three, that his hand is still atop Ron's hair, and is now stroking it with great care.

And four, and most frightening of all, that he feels very content to be doing so.


	7. Chapter 6

Sleeping With Thine Enemies 6

It is on a cool, clear night - two weeks before the start of the school term that Draco realizes that he and Ron have come to a crossroads.

At first everything seems normal . . . or, as normal as a situation like theirs can be. He is inside Ron's cell, about to sit down to one of their visits, when he senses that something about Ron is off.

Perhaps it's the way that the other boy won't quite meet his eyes, or perhaps it's the way his voice trembles when he says his name. But whatever it is, something is definitely wrong. And the longer that Draco stands in front of Ron, the stronger that sense of wrongness becomes, until it is almost suffocating in its intensity.

Draco forces himself to sit down, mentally preparing to hear about his father's latest and greatest atrocity. He figures it must be especially bad to have brought about this change in Ron.

As always, he waits for Ron to speak first, but Ron does not seem inclined to talk. And still Ron's eyes do not meet his.

When he tires of having the silence weighing on him, Draco clears his throat and calls out the other boy's name. This is how familiar he is with his former enemy now. To call him by his last name would be a grievous insult.

Ron hesitantly lifts his gaze to meet Draco's, but still he does not speak.

"What's the matter?" Draco asks, letting the concern he feels slip into his voice, tainting it colors it shouldn't be.

"I..."

Draco's concern grows exponentially at hearing Ron unable to complete even one sentence. He can't imagine what could have happened to cause the other boy to act like this. Or, to be more accurate, he does not _want_ to imagine what could have happened. But he continues to pursue it anyway, once again asking, "What is it?"

Ron opens his mouth as if to speak, but all that emerges this time is a small wounded sound.

Draco furrows his brow and leans in close to Ron, intently searching for any indication of what has happened. It is then that he sees that Ron is holding something in his closed fist, which is tucked under his arm. The object is mostly hidden from view, but as Draco peers more closely he can see that whatever it is, it glints softly against the light.

"What is that?" he asks.

Ron looks down at his hand, then back up at Draco. "I took it," he whispers.

"What is it? Why are you hiding it?"

"I took it from your father. From his robe. He didn't see me."

"What _is_ it, Ron?" Draco asks, feeling a sense of foreboding descend upon him.

Ron pulls his hand away from his arm and slowly unclenches his fist, unveiling the concealed object.

Draco recognizes it right away. How could he not? After all, it belongs to his father. A beautiful, small silver dagger with the Malfoy crest adorning its hilt.

"Ron . . . "

"I took it from his robes. He leaves my hands free now. He didn't even notice."

Afraid to know the answer, but not able to stop himself, Draco asks, "What are you going to do with it?"

Ron hesitates, then looks down at the dagger, and once again closes his hand around it.

"Are you going to hurt my father, Ron? Is that what you're going to do with it?" Draco hisses.

Ron's eyes widen with undisguised surprise, as if that idea had never entered his mind. "No! No, this is for me."

Draco is stunned enough that he is rocked back on his heels. "What?"

"It's sharp enough I think," Ron says vaguely.

Frustrated and confused by Ron's demeanor, Draco moves forward and, grabbing Ron's forearms, gives him sharp shake. "Ron!" he shouts in the other boy's face. "What the hell are you talking about?"

This seems to bring Ron around. He blinks once, and his eyes clear, losing the foggy, uncertain look of before. When he looks at Draco, it's as if he's seeing him for the first time tonight. "I'm going to kill myself," he says in a steely, determined voice.

Draco slowly lets go of Ron's arms and sits back. "You can't be serious."

"Why can't I be?" When Draco doesn't answer, he says, "Draco, I've never been so serious about anything as I am about this."

"But Ron, you can't . . . you just can't."

"No, what I _can't_ do, is live like this any longer," Ron says, his voice low and heated. "I can't sit in this cell, day in and day out, waiting for your father to come and rape me. I can't."

"Ron, this won't go on forever. Eventually, he'll let you go," Draco says, then inwardly cringes at his words. How terribly false they ring, even to him.

"No, he won't. If and when he gets tired of me, he'll give me to Voldemort. And then I get to be tortured to death or into insanity . . . whichever comes first." Ron pauses, gathering his breath. "There is no way out for me, except for this," he says as he indicates the dagger with a short nod.

Desperate to convince Ron that he cannot kill himself, although he's not really sure why, Draco blurts out, "You're going to be rescued, you know. They're going to find you. All you have to do is hold out a little longer."

Ron shrugs. "So what if they do?"

Not understanding, Draco merely shakes his head in confusion.

"Even if they do, Draco, how am I supposed to live with this? Don't you get it? I don't want to live anymore. No matter what the circumstances . . . with your father . . . with Voldemort . . . back at Hogwarts . . . I don't want to live."

Draco can think of nothing to say to this. Essentially rendered mute, he can only stare at Ron dumbly.

"What does it matter to you anyway, whether I live or die?"

Draco, caught off-guard, stumbles through his answer, as he once again tries to find his voice. "Well, I . . . mmm . . . that is . . . "

"If it matters that much to you, why don't you help me get out of here?"

A different question; an _easier_ question. Now Draco can speak. "You know I can't do that. Ron, he's my father."

"If you cared at all, you would help me."

"I can't, Ron!" Draco insists. "They would arrest him. They would put him in prison."

"That's where he deserves to be!"

"I can't!"

They'd been inadvertently moving closer to each other as they spoke, their voices rising, until they are finally nose to nose, both breathing heavily. Draco blinks, disconcerted to find himself so close to Ron. He makes an effort to slow his breathing down as he edges away to a safe distance.

Ron appears to be doing the same and a long moment of silence passes between them before Draco speaks again. "If things were reversed and you were in my place, what would you do?"

"My father would never do this to you!" Ron says indignantly.

"It's hypothetical Ron, Jesus!"

"I would turn him in," Ron says resolutely.

"Would you? Would you really, Ron?"

"Yes, I would," Ron says again, although this time his voice doesn't sound quite as certain.

"Well then, you're a better person than I am. But that's nothing new, is it?"

Ron looks at him hard, eyes searching his face for God knows what, before sighing deeply, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I'm just tired, Draco."

And he is. Draco can see how tired Ron truly is. Of being stuck here, of being hurt . . . of everything. "I know," Draco acknowledges quietly.

"If things were reversed, and you were me . . . what would you do? Wouldn't you want to die?"

Draco, usually so good at lying, struggles to come up with something. An answer that Ron will buy, that will somehow supply him with whatever he needs to want to stay alive. But he can't. He owes Ron the truth. He owes the other boy that much. "Yeah, I probably would," he admits.

"Well then, I would say that settles it then, wouldn't you?" Ron says as he takes the dagger and gently lays it on the ground next to him.

"I suppose."

"It shouldn't matter to you. None of this should," Ron says, looking at him intently, and maybe expectantly. Like he's waiting for Draco to give a reason for his behavior.

Draco crosses his arms, not answering the subtle, unspoken question. "No, you're right. It shouldn't."

Ron rolls his eyes, and exhales in frustration. "Draco, just tell me why you care."

Draco groans internally, hating that he has to admit this. "Look, I like you, all right? You're a decent fellow once someone gets to know you. And I think I'm maybe going to miss you a little if you're gone."

Ron looks down at the dagger. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Feeling embaressed and uncomfortable with his revelation, Draco shakes his head and stands up abruptly. "Look, I have to go."

"Draco," Ron says as he places a restraining hand on Draco's arm.

Draco stills and looks at him, part of him wanting to get out of here while another part of him is curious as to what else Ron could possibly have to say.

He waits, then he feels Ron pulling him closer.

Draco allows himself to be led, bending low at the waist as he nears the other boy, so that their faces are level.

He listens; waits for whatever Ron has to say. But Ron says nothing at all. He just continues to move Draco forward until there is almost no space between them at all. Draco only realizes what is about to happen a mere second before it does.

And then Ron's lips touch his; gently, tenderly. Draco can feel his pulse quickening, his heart fluttering. It is a wonderful sensation, and it becomes nearly overwhelming as their kiss deepens just the tiniest bit.

Draco has almost completely lost himself in the softness and the heat of the other boy's mouth when Ron breaks away suddenly, leaving him feeling strangely cold and aching.

Draco brings a hand to his lips, a little dismayed to find that it is trembling. "What did you do that for?" he breathes out.

Ron smiles just a little, suddenly looking sheepish and very shy. "Because you've wanted that from me for a long time. You've never stopped, but you've never let yourself hurt me again."

Draco smiles, and it is both a little bit kind and a little bit wicked. "So, a gift then?"

Nodding, Ron says, "A gift."

For a moment, Draco just savors the moment. Two people smiling at each other - it almost feels normal. But then reality creeps in, and Draco's smile fades. "Ron, I wish . . . "

"Don't."

"But I . . . "

"Don't, Draco. There's nothing else to say."

Draco straightens. "You're right. There is nothing more to say." Yet he can still feel Ron's heat on his arm, on his lips.

He takes a few steps back and in the dim light he can see the tears that are now running down Ron's face.

But there is nothing more to say.

There is nothing more to do.

It is Ron's choice now.

He closes the cell door behind him, leaving Ron crying alone in the dark.

And still his lips burn with the other boy's kiss.


End file.
